Black
by float like a sponge
Summary: A different vein of Dance With New York. The day the world went black. All friends. Picks up where Dance left off.


**Black Sun**

_This is in a different vein from a Dance with New York; however essentially it's the same setting, time, and heart. Black Sun continues on the Friday night/ Saturday morning that Dance left off. The situations and characters are the same._

_So are the dances._

The lights of the city were mixing into the wet glass of the cab window.

Colors flashed like holograms across Chandler's surroundings as the cab flew through the sparse traffic of New York's early hours.

2:24 a.m. burned it's digits into the cab's radio screen.

The international radio station reporting conflict in Afghanistan cackled with static and then died suddenly with a small pop.

The driver choked on his spit strewn wad of chewing tobacco. He beat his hair covered hand into his oversized chest. His gold Virgin Mary chain rattled loudly. After coughing harshly he rolled down the driver's side window and turned the brown chunk of tobacco into a projectile.

Chandler winced slightly at the spectacle which happened to distract him momentarily from his throbbing hand and nose.

While they waited at a long traffic light, Chandler reassessed his situation. The cab's interior flashed red with a nearby fire station's siren lights lighting up the street as several trucks pulled out of the huge garage.

Horns sounded loudly in the night.

The radio's static came back loudly and somewhere in the radio waves bits of a reporter's voice came through.

Chandler's wounded hand was pressed against his khakis as his nose was blocked with cotton balls and q-tips.

The swelling was getting worse and the bleeding wasn't slowing down. The bone, showing through the flesh in his hand, was a shocking white as it reflected the cab radio's neon green light.

His mind still couldn't process all the events that had transpired in the evening.

'My wife…did this.' His eyes glazed over the bloody limb resting on his lap.

The concept still seemed so foreign. His mind worked through it like an alien substance trying to seep through.

"Which hospital? Mt. Sinai or Presbyterian?" the driver burbled from his mouth, thick with saliva and a Providence accent.

"Whatever's closest…I don't drive cabs," Chandler replied in agitation.

The driver's worn eyes pierced Chandler through the rear view mirror. A frown was etched on his long, withered face.

"Okay, smart ass, okay."

The cab lurched as it hit an uneven sewer top. The pressure on Chandler's hand loosened as his shoulder hit the side door from the cab's momentum.

Dark glistening blood poured over his pale skin and onto cab's dark interior.

Red spots darkened the fabric.

"Hey, you watch that shit!" barked the Italian New Yorker.

"Maybe if you watched the fuc---"

Chandler's sentence broke in mid-air as his mouth fell wide open. His eyes brimmed over with astonishment at the cab's front window.

'Since when do minor gunshot wounds warrant hallucinations?'

He blinked several times subconsciously reaffirming he was firmly in reality.

If there was ever a secret dance….propelling the city through time…it had suddenly and drastically stopped.

It was the most potent gut reaction he had ever felt. His insides churned painfully.

The beads of rain water on the glass had frozen in place.

It felt as if a roller coaster going full speed had suddenly stopped in the middle of a 500 ft decline.

Chandler felt intense nausea building up from the pits of his stomach.

The traffic light had turned green and despite the heavy foot on the accelerator, the cab barely moved.

Above them New York's early morning black sky had turned white.

And it was the purest white man had ever known

Everything lit up harshly. The buildings, windows, streets, and parked cars reflected it like mirrors.

The cab appeared motionless, yet it still progressed slowly in inches.

"What's going on?" Chandler croaked slowly.

"Fuck if I know. Terrorists?" the driver replied with fear lacing his baritone voice.

"Fuck terrorists…this is something else," Chandler answered staring out of the cab's window.

There was a sudden tremor below the slowly rotating rubber tires. The vibration began to shake the car's bolts and doors lightly.

Street poles, hydrants, and trees along the sidewalks shook visibly.

A steady hum rose from the nearby metal and concrete.

The radio turned into a piercing static shrill; loud and disorienting.

"Oh my God!" cried Chandler while covering his ears.

He reached for the shaking metal door handle. The windows were knocking loudly against their frames.

"What's wrong with the car?" Chandler shouted.

"What?! Nothing…it's still on…but there's no speed. It's like we just slowed. Shit this is weird!"

The cab driver struggled to unbuckle his seatbelt which was wrapped amply around his wide frame.

Chandler ripped the door open and fell out on his side.

Small fragments of shining gravel hummed under his skin. Specs of dirt and loose rock jumped off of the street in slow motion. A line of ants were frozen across the yellow street paint.

In complete confusion, he lifted himself up and wondered away from the cab. His feet were walking without his awareness.

His blood-spotted khakis caked against his legs.

The distance between him and the cab grew. Light blinded his vision.

His eyes squinted to see what was going on around him but his cornea's were burning.

In an apartment flat doorway to his left he thought he vaguely saw a spray of red but he couldn't be sure. The piercing radio seemed to become less.

He staggered forward until he felt his left hand collide with something wet in the air. Reacting abruptly, he wrenched his hand away from the substance.

Brown splotches of something now stained his tanned skin. Chandler bent over and squinted.

His mouth fell open.

A wad of tobacco was floating slowly through the air towards the ground. Beads of clear saliva were trailing behind it. His mind began to spin.

Chandler glanced towards the fire station, the red light taking hours to shift centimeters.

His feet shifted and he turned back towards the cab.

The light screened his surroundings as if he was wearing some distorted infrared. He heard the cabdriver banging behind him against the driver's side door to get out.

"Help me you asshole!"

Chandler stared around in shock before locking his eyes on the driver.

He bit his thin lower lip and jogged back towards the driver while holding his left hand gingerly. The piercing tone from the radio once again became unbearable.

Chandler reached towards the door handle with his free hand and pulled mightily, shifting his weight.

The door didn't budge.

He readjusted his stance and tugged once more.

Nothing.

Cupping his ears, he ran around the car to the front side passenger door. He tried the door handle.

It broke off and bounced onto the street.

Fear erupted in the driver's face.

Chandler peered through the glass and noticed the driver had smashed in the radio and yet it still continued to make their ears bleed unforgivably.

He glanced away from the cab in desperation.

For the first time he noticed the others; other people in robes and gowns were creeping from their beds and into the streets to stare into the sky at the surreal light.

Some glanced nervously back into their homes as radios, televisions, and computers all sounded off around them in a shrill pitch.

About 30 people now stood on their sidewalks, shielding their eyes, while squinting to see anything they could.

Sensing the urgency in the cab driver's demeanor, Chandler ran towards the window with a strong kick.

The cab rocked back and forth but the window remained intact

He lowered his exasperated face to let the driver know he was clueless. Just as the tip of his nose touched the glass, a miniature bomb seemed to explode within.

Blood splattered everywhere while the cab remained still and whole.

The windows were coated as the red began to slide downwards. Chandler stared on catatonically. His heart slowed as glimpses of the cab's interior could be seen.

His eyes strained and strained but he searched in vain.

He eventually fell backwards into the ground and stared at the cab's exterior blankly.

Rolling through his mind were countless possibilities but none gave him any answers.

As he attempted to swallow heavily the dry lump in his throat all he could think was 'where did it go.'

Within the interior of the vehicle, among gallons of sprayed blood, everything was as it was.

Everything except the cab driver's heavy body. The body was gone.


End file.
